


The one where Bucky Barnes does not end up as a spinster

by malixa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Allusions to PTSD, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Sarah Rogers lives, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Coffee Shops, Dogs and Kittens, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Stood Up, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Soldier Bucky, Soldier Steve, assholes being assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malixa/pseuds/malixa
Summary: It takes him a second to realize that the light and fluttery feeling in his chest is excitement. It’s been a long time since he’s felt like this, like he’s on the cusp of something good – something that isn’t just another adrenaline-fuelled mission but a real, genuine normal experience.It's Bucky's fist date since the loss of his arm and getting honorably discharged. It does not go anything like expected.





	

Bucky drags a hand across his jaw again, watching himself in the mirror.

The shirt he’s wearing was a birthday present from Natasha from last year, which he’s worn exactly twice before. It’s a nice shirt, dark blue, with clean-cut lines that accentuate the breadth of his shoulders. He even ironed it, which took him 40 minutes to do with just one arm, but he’s glad he made the extra effort. The pinned up sleeve doesn’t look as awkward as usual when the fabric isn’t all scrunched up like it usually is.

Unlike the shirt the jeans are new. A pretty expensive pair, but they fit well and if he may say so himself his ass looks fantastic in them. Most importantly they’ll look good with his leather jacket, which he refuses to part with even if it’s getting a little worn around the sleeves. He’s had that jacket since he got his first kiss from Philip McCormack in High School, and it’s been his lucky jacket ever since. It even fits nicely around the prosthesis when he chooses to wear it.

Before he left the bathroom he’d shaved and put his hair up in a bun to look less like what Sam refers to as hobo chic. He even dabbed on some of the fancy cologne that’s been wasting away on his bathroom shelf. And now he’s standing in the hallway and watching himself in the mirror, unable to not notice how damn nervous he looks.

It’s a little ridiculous. It’s not like this is his first date, granted that it is his first in about six years. There have been a number of passing flings in the last few years, but between fellow soldiers there’s always an unspoken agreement to never get too close. For the first time in years, he can actually let himself want something long term.

It takes him a second to realize that the light and fluttery feeling in his chest is excitement. It’s been a long time since he’s felt like this, like he’s on the cusp of something good – something that isn’t just another adrenaline-fuelled mission but a real, genuine normal experience. It brings a smile to his face, and he feels a little dumb standing all alone and smiling to himself. Whatever, it’s not like anyone can see.

To stop himself from dithering any longer he gives himself a mental nudge, imagining Sam’s voice telling him to stop fretting in his apartment like some angst-ridden teenager.

The weather’s good so he legs it, enjoying the fresh air and the sun shining on his face. The walk over to the coffee shop seems to have done him some good because the nerves have receded a little, and he’s left with that little bubble of excitement as he enters The Busy Bean.

He hasn’t been here in years. Not since before he shipped out, but since then it hasn’t changed all that much. The display cases are new and he’s pretty sure some of the couches and chairs have been upgraded, but it’s still as cozy and homey as it used to be. With a cursory glance to the menu board he ambles up to the counter, fishing his wallet out from his jeans.

The counter is unmanned and there’s no line, so he takes his time considering the menu. He runs his fingers along the edge of the counter-top absently, an amused smile pulling on his lips when he hears someone murmuring lowly to themselves.

“You talkin’ to someone under there?” He asks, giving the counter a little rap with his knuckles.

Whoever is under the counter must startle because there’s a sudden loud bang that sounds just like someone knocking their head against something hard. Bucky hears a muttered swear, and then a blond head pops up, then the guy rises to his full height.

Bucky almost swallows his tongue.

The man is tall, probably a little taller than Bucky, with these ridiculously broad shoulders that make Bucky go a little weak in the knees. The breadth of his chest and shoulders tapers down to a small waist, and Bucky boggles over the fact that he can count each of the guy’s abdominals through his shirt. The shirt he’s wearing is definitely too small; he might as well be wearing cling wrap. _Christ_.

Bucky manages to tear his eyes away and meet the guy’s eyes, finally. Bucky is pleased to see that he’s blushing a little, but whether that is because Bucky was rather so obviously checking him out or if he’s embarrassed about knocking his head is a mystery. It’s a good look on him nonetheless. Jesus, this guy is cute as _hell_.

“Uh, hi, sorry.” The guy says, Steve, his nametag says in swirly writing. “Kittens.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t talking to myself, I was talking to the kittens.” Steve answers, which, well, doesn’t make much more sense.

“Kittens?”

“I’ve been keeping them here until my friend can come pick them up and find a place for them to stay permanently. Some asshole had just left them by the dumpsters by the back, in a box. Can you believe someone would do that? They’re hardly more than a few weeks old, and they were all alone, the five of them. The lid was taped shut for God sake. What kind of heartless asshole does something like that?”

During his speech, Steve’s voice had grown increasingly angrier. The edge of his jaw has turned sharp and the smile he’d greeted Bucky with has been pulled into a tight line.

“A really, really heartless asshole?” Bucky offers.

“I–” Steve says and catches himself. He shakes his head, seemingly at himself and smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I’m ranting. I do that, sometimes. I just don’t like…” he gestures vaguely with his hand and sighs.

“Heartless assholes that leaves kittens in boxes?”

The corners of Steve’s mouth turn up even further, transforming his face into something a little soft and relieved. “Yeah, _that_.”

“Pretty sure no one does, man.”

There’s a loud mewl from somewhere and Steve peeks under the counter and mutters under his breath, ducking down. Bucky hears some soft murmuring and he presses against the counter top, leaning over to watch in a way that’s probably not polite. The kittens are in a laundry basket lined with towels in various colors, situated in a furry little heap on top of a heating pad. Except for one of them, who has wandered off from its siblings and is mewling pityingly as Steve rubs the underside of its chin.

“Sorry, “ Steve says and looks up at him. “They’re a bit of a handful.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Steve stops in the middle of his response to release a loud sneeze, blinking as if he’s almost surprised at the noise he just made.

“Sorry, allergies.” He explains and places the wandering kitten next to the rest of them. “I’m just going to wash my hands and I’ll be with you in a sec.”

Steve disappears and comes back a few moments later, wiping his hands on his apron. “Have you decided?”

“Yeah, can I have a hazelnut macchiato and a croissant?”

“Eat in or to go?”

“Eat in,”

Steve starts puttering with some coffee beans, giving Bucky a great view of the corded muscles on his arms as he pours them into a grinder. The process of making coffee has never struck Bucky as particularly fascinating before, but he can’t quite keep his eyes off Steve’s hands while he works. Which should not be his focus right now. He should be thinking about subjects to bring up when Trevor arrives, or at least be doing something to prepare himself for this.

A heavenly smelling coffee is placed right under his nose, followed by what looks to be a freshly baked croissant topped with chocolate sprinkles. Bucky hands the cash over, inwardly rolling his eyes at himself when their fingers brush and a little spark of excitement runs through him. Being overexcited at someone’s touch is better than feeling nothing at all he supposes. There were a rough couple of months in the beginning when he’d just gotten discharged where the thought of getting off had been less exciting than doing dishes. Needlessly to say Bucky had spotless casseroles for a few months.

Steve hands him back his change and Bucky places his cup on the plate so he can grab it with one hand and goes to find a table. The little nooks by the far wall that Bucky loved to sit in are all occupied, mostly by teenagers and students, who are taking advantage of the nearby power outlets. The table Bucky chooses is further back into the room, giving him a good view of the counter and the exit. It’s a habit that’s hard to break, but at least he doesn’t sleep with his combat knife under his pillow anymore.

He checks his phone – he’s still five minutes early. Trevor will be punctual he’s pretty certain. The description Sam had given had been short: Trevor has dark hair and brown eyes, he’s tall, but not much taller than Bucky and a few years younger than Bucky is. He works for the same lawyer company as Sam’s girlfriend does, apparently looks gorgeous in suits (Erin’s words, not Sam’s) and likes going out, especially clubbing.

Bucky just hopes Trevor won’t show up in a three-piece suit or anything, he’s seen the silky blouses and expensive pantsuits Erin wears for work. Not that he wouldn’t love to see how gorgeous Trevor allegedly looks in one, but in a small coffee shop in Brooklyn it might be overkill.

By the time the clock ticks two p.m. Bucky has already finished half his coffee. It’s perfect; just like he remembers and when he tears off a piece of his croissant it’s buttery and light, flaky and crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. It’s possible he makes a little pleased noise when he puts the first piece in his mouth.

When it’s five past two he restlessly shrugs his jacket off. He thinks no one in the coffee shop seems to notice but he sees Steve glance at him, then glance at him again and this time his gaze lingers on his pinned up sleeve. He doesn’t make a face, doesn’t even seem embarrassed when he sees Bucky catching him watching. Instead he smiles, and it’s not pitying or anything…it’s sort of nice.

At seven past two Bucky sends Natasha a text, a casual, _‘How’s your day?’_

When she replies a few seconds later Bucky rolls his eyes. He’s not sure if he’s being transparent or if Natasha is just omniscient.

_‘Is something wrong?’_

_‘He hasn’t showed up yet.’_ Bucky responds, there’s no use in lying to Natasha anyway.

_‘You were supposed to meet up at two, right? It’s not even ten past, Bucky. Don’t worry about it.’_

The doorbell goes off and Bucky’s eyes are immediately drawn to the door. A harried, pregnant woman enters with a kid on her hip and another holding her hand. Bucky watches as Steve makes a face at the baby who gurgles in response, jamming his hand into his mouth. A small smile finds it’s way to Bucky’s face, if anything it’s a nice distraction.

It’s a quarter past now. Bucky checks his texts with Trevor from last week to make sure he had the time and date right. Which he does.

At twenty past he decides to text Sam.

_‘He hasn’t showed yet. Should I ask if something has come up?’_

_‘I can text Erin if you want? check if he’s home sick or something’_

Bucky makes a face but responds, _‘sure, thanks’_

In the next few minutes he resolutely doesn’t check his phone. Instead he tries to occupy himself with drinking the last dregs of his coffee, which has gone cold by now and nibbling on the rest of his pastry that just doesn’t taste as good as it did twenty minutes ago.

He jerks from his seat when the door opens again, letting in a flock of women in yoga pants, all talking at the top of their lungs. Disappointment swells in his chest and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself a little. He’s putting his hand on his thigh to stop it from jiggling when he receives another text from Sam.

_‘Erin says he left for lunch a while ago, he should be there soon.’_

Bucky is definitely not imaging the pitying look the girl in the corner table is giving him. How much of an idiot must he look, sitting here all alone watching the door like a hawk and checking his phone every two seconds.

Bucky stays put and keeps glancing at the door as surreptitiously as he can. When he checks his phone again it’s been forty-five minutes since Trevor should have been here.

_‘He’s not coming is he?’_

Sam doesn’t answer for some time. Bucky finds himself staring at the floor, thumb rubbing at a hangnail until a voice startles him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Just wanted to let you know, since you can’t see the sign from here,” Steve says, stopping to point at somewhere along the wall. “But there’s free refills on all hot beverages, in case you’re interested.”

“Sure,” He answers, clearing his throat when it comes out a little rough. “Thanks.”

Steve smiles at him and takes his cup, leaving the half eaten croissant.

A minute passes and Bucky’s phone buzzes again.

_‘Erin texted that he just came back.’_

Maybe he just didn’t see Bucky. Or maybe Sam hadn’t given him a good enough description; Bucky recently found out that usually when Sam describes him he says ‘Hobo chic with a side of hipster and man pain.’ It’s possible isn’t it?

_‘Think he didn’t recognize me?’_

_‘Erin showed him a picture from your last tour so I doubt it. she’s gonna to talk to him.’_

Steve comes back with Bucky’s coffee and places it on the table in front of him. When he turns to leave again Bucky forces himself to return Steve’s smile. Why the hell did he say yes to this? In his mind, the worst-case scenario had been an awkward date and amicable split at the end of the night. This wasn’t how he’d wanted things to go.

Bucky stares off to space and drifts a little, barely aware of his surroundings. It happens sometimes; he’ll just sit in silence and get lost and usually it’s not bad or good but today it certainly doesn’t feel good. By the time he resurfaces it’s already a little past three. Bucky looks at the door again, then glances around the café and finds that the girl that had been staring at him earlier and the rest of her study group are looking at him. He diverts his gaze and swallows painfully.

He looks back up when he hears someone approaching. Steve sets the cup down on Bucky’s table and dithers for a moment. “Hey, so, listen, my mom just made a new batch of croissants if you’d like to try one fresh out of the oven. The one you got earlier was from my batch and I can’t really bake, that’s my mom’s thing.”

“It’s fine. It was good,”

Steve looks down at the half eaten croissant and then back at Bucky. He opens his mouth to say something and then deflates. “Are you sure? Because they really are good.”

Bucky bets they are, but he’ll also bet that Steve isn’t offering to get him a new one because his mom makes them better. The look on Steve’s face is easy to read and what Bucky sees makes him feel angry and defensive.

“I don’t need your pity, man.” He feels his mouth twitch into something he’s pretty sure isn’t a convincing smile. “People get stood up all the time, it’s nothin’ new.”

He’s just about to get up and leave when Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder. “It’s not pity, I swear. My mom, she said you looked skinny. To be fair she says that about me too, so you obviously can’t trust her eyesight, but my dad…my dad was a soldier and after he passed away she’s been going outta’ her way to show her appreciation, I guess.”

The tense muscles in Bucky’s shoulders uncoil and he leans back in his seat, feeling defeated and a little small. “Sorry for your loss,”

“It was a long time ago,” Steve answers. He looks back to the counter, which is now minded by a small-statured woman who looks to be in her late fifties with curled up blonde hair and a warm face.

“Could she really tell that easily?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods vaguely at Bucky’s direction. “You’re wearing dog tags.”

They’re tucked under Bucky’s shirt like always, but the shape of them must be familiar to her he guesses.

“Mind if I sit?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I realize this is a bit of a stretch, but did you happen to see a guy around here, kind of tall, dark curly hair and dressed a little fancy maybe?”

Steve thinks for a moment and asks, “With glasses? Thick rimmed ones?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answers. He’d forgotten about that, but Sam had made a point of mentioning it because he knows Bucky has a thing for it.

“I think he might’ve walked past. I thought he was checking out the menu, but he just looked through the window and walked away.”

The last little smidgen of Bucky’s hope dies out at that. “It was the arm wasn’t it? He’d already seen a photo of my face so what else could it have been? He must have seen the arm…”

Steve’s mouth falls open. His face goes through a series of expressions, surprise first, which is quickly followed by comprehension and then anger. The edge of jaw sets, sharpening it even further and the look in his eyes turns intense and determined.

“If he did and he walked out on you, he’s a fucking asshole. Don’t give him a minute more of your day because he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it.”

The fiery response draws a surprised little snort from Bucky. “Sounds like you’ve taken personal offence.”

“Well, I know what it feels like,” Steve says softly, sitting back in his chair. “It’s a lousy thing to do.”

“You’re telling me that you have been stood up?” Bucky asks disbelievingly, because it’s pretty fucking unbelievable that someone would. He knows that he’s not unattractive, but he’d bet there are lots of people out there who’d recoil at the thought of going out with a vet with a missing arm. Exhibit A, the fact that he’s sitting here, recently stood up and still feeling a little humiliated.

Steve’s smile widens in an aw shucks kind of way and blushes a little, just at the top of his cheeks. “Well, I used to be really scrawny when I was younger. I was sick a lot as a kid, so I didn’t really hit a real growth spurt until I was in college. After we bought the shop and got it up and running, we could afford better meds for me so I bulked up a little and started to work out. But before that I was pretty sickly and short. That, plus the wheezing from my asthma and the persistent stuffy nose from allergies wasn’t particularly appealing.”

Bucky tries to imagine Steve as he described himself, skinny and sickly. Obviously he’d still look very much like himself, only with narrower shoulders maybe, and a smaller stature. Something niggles at the back of his mind at the image.

“Did you used to work here? Like, I don’t know, ten years back or something?”

“Yeah, I did. From I was sixteen till I went off to college, then I only did weekends.”

“I think I might remember you. Did you wear beanies a lot? And ridiculously tight skinny jeans? And…did you have a nose piercing?”

“That was phase,” Steve sputters. “It was my struggling artist phase, okay? Stop laughing, you jerk.”

Bucky manages to choke his laughter down to snickers, but Steve doesn’t look particularly offended. He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling slightly in the corners. It makes Bucky’s whole chest feel warm.

“Don’t be offended because we serve a lot of customers on a daily basis, but I don’t think I remember you,”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve changed a lot,”

Up until that point Bucky had almost forgotten about Trevor. He was having fun and talking to Steve was surprisingly easygoing, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. The smile slips from his face and he makes a vague gesture with his hand to Steve before fishing it out of his pocket.

_‘Erin feels really bad for setting you up w Trevor. she tried to talk to him but he was an ass about it, so try to forget about it. the office drama was epic, you should get Erin to recount all the details for you later.’_

_‘What did he say?’_

_‘You don’t want to know.’_

_‘Tell me.’_

_‘Amongst other things he told her that he didn’t want someone who was damaged and that he didn’t have time for someone who needed “work”.’_

Bucky’s heart drops in his chest.

 _‘But fuck him, don’t even think about him. assholes like him don’t deserve your time of day. I have a meeting in five minutes so I really need to go, but call me if you need me and I’ll grab a moment._ ’

He puts his phone away, lest that he’ll chuck it in the wall if he holds on to it for a moment longer. The pleasant atmosphere from earlier has dissipated. Steve can obviously tell that whatever Bucky read on his phone has upset him and doesn’t know what to do about it. Bucky doesn’t have a clue either, usually he just buries beneath a heap of blankets until he forgets.

Luckily, an incoming distraction in form of a small woman is approaching them, carrying a big square plate leaden with various pastries and cookies. Steve startles when she places it between them on the table but recovers quickly. The woman smiles kindly at Bucky and turns an expectant look on Steve.

“Oh, right. Sorry, this is my mom, Sarah.” Steve says. “And this is – uh…”

Steve continues to flounder for a moment, and Bucky interjects, “Bucky.”

“Right. Bucky,” Steve says.

Sarah raises an unimpressed brow at Steve and then shakes Bucky’s proffered hand with a surprisingly strong grip.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he replies. Sarah’s eyes are the same shade as Steve’s, and just as warm and kind. There’s a clear resemblance between them, especially around the eyes, but there’s a certain likeness to their noses too. Bucky wonders what Steve’s dad looked like.

“These are all Steve’s favorites,” Sarah tells him, gesturing to the plate. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I just picked a little bit of everything.”

“It smells delicious,” He tells her, grabbing one of the piping hot chocolate chip cookies.

Sarah suddenly draws in a sharp, agonized breath and her right hand comes up to clutch her left side, her eyes falling closed.

“Are you all right?” Bucky asks, shooting a worried look at Steve, who does nothing but look forlornly back at him.

“Just my back, sweetheart.” She says. Bucky suspects there’s more to it than just that. “Stevie doesn’t usually like me working too long, but he’s a nice boy and he wanted to come talk to you so I told him he should.” With her other hand she pats at Steve’s head, the movement a little clumsy. “He has such a warm heart, my Stevie.”

“ _Ma_ ,” Steve complains and Sarah pinches his cheek, smirking at him.

“Okay, I’ll go. The kittens likes cuddles; at least they want my love.”

Steve smiles at her, and she takes a moment to steady herself on the back of his chair before she walks off, humming somewhat off tune as she goes.

“ _Stevie_ , huh?”

Bucky tries to tamp down on his smile, but Steve look really cute when he’s embarrassed and in the end he ends up letting out a snicker.

“Shut up,”

“I was just teasin’. It’s cute,”

“She lays it on thick in front of people that I – ” Steve cuts himself off and clears his throat, looking like he feels a little betrayed by his mouth. “She does that sometimes. My nickname through elementary was tater tot because some kids at school overheard her and wouldn’t let it go.”

“Could have been worse.”

Steve snorts. “You mean like when my platoon overheard her on Skype and wouldn’t stop calling me Puddin’ pop?”

Bucky laughs, trying to imagine calling Commander Phillips Puddin’ pop. He would’ve been shot in the ass while running for his life. He should have guessed that Steve was military; it’s obvious now, when he thinks about the Steve’s posture and the way he carries himself, and well, there’s no hiding the muscles beneath his shirt.

“Where were you deployed?” He asks.

“Afghanistan, Iraq twice, Bosnia, Kuwait and few others.”

Bucky whistles. “The few others are classified, I’m guessing?”

Steve smirks secretively.

“You must have a helluva lot of chest candy,” Bucky muses. He imagines Steve in his service uniform and cap; his broad chest decorated with medals and the way the uniform would accentuate all the right places, and he then promptly makes himself stop because the mental image is making his jeans feel a little tight.

“Some,” Steve dodges. “But I’ve put my cap on the shelf and that’s where it’ll stay for now.”

“Been a long time since you came back?”

“Three years. How ‘bout you?”

“A little over a year.”

Steve nods to himself and smiles a little wryly. “It never stops feeling weird does it?”

“No. No, it really doesn’t.”

They lapse into silence but it’s the good kind of silence, where it doesn’t feel awkward or strained. Steve snags a slice of lemon pound cake and Bucky picks up his forgotten cookie and breaks it into small pieces as he eats. It’s nice – sharing space with someone without having to worry that he’s acting off or being too quiet.

Steve shakes out a newspaper from a nearby table and starts going through the sports section, reading out loud when Bucky asks him to. They get into a heated argument about the Dodgers, and about the Mets, followed by the Yankees. By the time they graze the San Francisco Giants Bucky is mostly picking fights because Steve is ridiculously passionate about baseball and watching him get red cheeked and increasingly animated is hilarious. It’s also doing funny things to his heart, but Bucky is ignoring that for now.

Steve continues to read the paper, reading a few things he finds interesting out loud and rolling his eyes and complaining loudly about a few dumb things. Meanwhile, Bucky sits slouched in his chair, warming his hand on his tepid coffee cup and taking an occasional sip.

A loud shrill of an alarm beeps and Bucky startles, almost spilling coffee all over himself. Steve grabs his phone from his pocket and is quick to swipe the alarm off, which Bucky’s heart is plenty grateful for. He really doesn’t like being startled.

“Feeding time,” Steve explains. “Do you mind if I bring the cats out here?”

“Uh, no, that’s fine.”

Steve abandons his newspaper on the table and goes to fetch the laundry basket. He comes back a few minutes later, carrying the basket and a Tupperware box, containing supplies to feed the kittens, as well as a wet washcloth and several pairs of latex gloves. Steve sits and places the basket between his legs, then spreads a towel over his thighs.

“Probably breaking a bunch of health code violations right now,” He mutters to himself, looking around surreptitiously before he places the first kitten in his lap. He tests the milk substitute on his wrist and must deem it at appropriate temperature because he settles the tiny kitten in his palm and places the nipple of the bottle in reach. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds before the kitten is happily chugging the milk down, its eyes slipping shut contently.

Bucky feels something pleased and warm spread in his chest as he watches. The kitten eventually releases the nipple and fumbles for a moment, looking sleepy eyed and satisfied. Steve lowers the kitten a little and grabs the washcloth and the gloves and starts a process Bucky would rather not think about.

Steve removes the gloves and puts the washcloth away. The kitten is then placed back into the laundry basket and another is fed and washed and that’s how it goes. At least until one of the kittens doesn’t want to let Steve’s shirt go. There’s now two kittens in is lap and one is hanging onto Steve’s jeans by the claws.

“Could you just – ah, shit,” Steve reaches over and gently plops a kitten into Bucky’s lap and rushes to catch the runaway. The kitten in Bucky’s lap mewls and stands on wobbly feet, looking very displeased at the turn of events. It teeters precariously close to veering off Bucky’s leg and in a moment of panic he grabs for it, hoping his grip isn’t too tight. It’s the black one with white paws, the same one that had been roaming the basket earlier.

“That one likes to cuddle after being fed.” Steve explains.

It’s a bit awkward, lifting such a small creature one-handedly. Bucky slouches a little more in his chair so the kitten can lie comfortably against his stomach, supported by Bucky’s hand and snuggled up in a small towel Steve passes him. The kitten seems a little confused at first, but Bucky pets it until it settles down, blinking drowsily. It’s asleep within moments.

The last kitten is fed and washed. Steve picks the basket up into his lap and pets each of the kittens, rubbing their ears softly and stroking along their backs.

“My friend’s been trying to convince me to get a emotional support dog.”

Bucky doesn’t know where the words come from, but he’s already said it by the time he realizes that’s not the kind of stuff you share with strangers.

“And?” Steve asks encouragingly.

“I’ve wanted to for a long time, but they’re a lot of responsibility y’know? And sometimes I can’t even be bothered to get outta bed, how the hell would I even take care of something that depends on me?”

Steve dips his head as if to say ‘good point’ and thinks for a moment. “A friend of mine has a service dog. It seems to be really working well for him. And I don’t know, I can’t say for sure, but if anything I’d say it’d be easier to wake up in the morning when you know you have to.”

“Yeah?”

Steve looks up at Bucky, then at kitten snuggled up on his chest. His face softens, and he resumes petting one of the kittens again.

“Yeah. I know dogs are thought of as more traditional for the role, but you can have one of the cats if you want. I’ll still have to get them checked out first just be sure they’re all right, and they have to get a little older, but I doubt Clint would mind less responsibility. Right now they’re more work than a pup would be, but cats are generally more independent than dogs.”

Bucky finds himself tempted to say yes immediately. “Maybe,” he hedges. Best not impulsively decide to get a cat. He bets his psychiatrist will be proud when Bucky tells him next week. But maybe, he thinks and looks down at the kitten sleeping in his palm.

He’s so caught up in staring at the little fur-ball that he doesn’t even notice that someone is approaching before he hears a ‘Hey’. The man next to their table is short and impressively broad-shouldered, which is only further emphasized by the sleeveless t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s mid thirties maybe, suntanned with dirty blonde hair that makes Bucky think of the beach.

And then there’s the dog. A one-eyed, pleased as punch dog wearing a blue collar that says ‘at work’. His tail is wagging wildly, thumping against the man’s leg as Steve bends down to greet it.

“Hey Lucky.” Steve says, rubbing at the dog’s jaw. The dog makes a low sound in the back of his throat, practically melting into Steve’s ministrations as he reaches to scratch behind his ears.

“You’re pathetic.” The man tells the dog, voiced laced with fondness.

Steve grins. “I thought you said you were coming by tonight?”

The man shrugs a shoulder, smirking slightly. “Yeah, but coming in at lunch means that your mom’s here, and that means I get leftover pastries from yesterday.”

“You’re the one that’s pathetic.” Steve tells him and reaches to scratch behind the dog’s ear again. “Ain’t that right, Lucky?”

Steve sits back up, his arm still curled loosely around the basket. “This is Clint, by the way, he runs an animal shelter a few blocks from here. And this is Bucky.”

Clint smiles at him and Bucky nods in greeting. “I’d shake your hand but…”

Clint looks down at the kitten occupying Bucky’s only hand and chuckles. “No worries, man.”

“And these are the dumpster kitty cats?”

“Yeah.”

Clint coos at the kittens and reaches into the basket to pet their little heads. “I think you were right.” He says, lifting one of the kittens to inspect it. “They look a few days short of three weeks, but it’s hard to tell without weighing them and giving them a proper check up.”

“Is Phil available today?”

“Should be,” Clint says, easing the kitten into the basket again. “You in a hurry to get these little ones off your hands?”

“No, but I figured the sooner they got looked over and put on a little weight, the quicker they’d get adopted, right?”

“The shelter is a little packed at the moment, Steve, but kittens do usually get picked out real quick. I’m sure someone will come pick ‘em up.”

The kitten in Bucky’s hand wiggles around a little, opening it’s eyes to look around peevishly and releasing a little yawn. “How anyone can say no to a face like that is a mystery.”

“You been thinking about adopting?” Clint asks, a knowing look in his eyes.

Bucky shrugs as well as he can with just one arm and a kitten in his palm. “I’m considering it. A friend’s been trying to convince me ever since I got discharged, but I’ve only recently started thinking ‘bout it seriously.”

Clint nods and Bucky can’t see the soldier in him, but there’s an understanding there. Why Clint has a therapy dog, Bucky doesn’t know, but he’s read the studies. He knows the effects service dogs can have on people with disabilities of all sorts, like hearing impairments for example. He’s not an expert or anything but he’s pretty sure the device in Clint’s ear is a hearing aid.

“You mind if I join you guys?” Clint asks.

Steve looks like he’s about to say something, but ends up shaking his head instead. “No, just grab a chair from an empty table if you can find one.”

“Actually,” Bucky interjects and rises from his chair. “I should get going, so you can have my seat.”

He hands the kitten back to Steve, who accepts it into wide palms that practically engulf the little thing. He frees his leather jacket from the back of the chair and slips it on in one single move, something he’s just recently managed to perfect. And then he just dithers for a moment, his eyes finding their way to Steve’s. His mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, but to Bucky’s disappointment he doesn’t.

Bucky wants to say something too. He’s just not sure how to approach a guy to ask him out when said guy witnessed Bucky get stood up, probably looking all kinds of pathetic and sad, then heard him reveal things about himself that he certainly wouldn’t have in other circumstances. And he’s sure as hell not going to ask in front of Clint or the other strangers in the coffee shop, he’s had enough humiliation for one day. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not sure he can handle rejection twice in a day.

“Well, it was nice to meet you.” He says.

Steve nods and smiles, his jaw clenching for just a second. “Yeah, you too.”

Bucky makes himself move, inwardly shaking his head at himself. Why would Steve want to go out with someone like him anyway? Who would? Maybe Bucky can just stay with Sam and Nat forever, until they finally get married like they’ve said they will for years and he can be a live-in nanny for their some-day kids.

“Hey, wait up!” He hears a voice call out and halts.

It’s Clint, digging into each and every pocket in his blue tac pants before he finds a small, square card. “My phone number and e-mail, if you decide you’re interested in adopting or have any questions. There’s no need to rush, there are plenty of animals that need a home, so take your time and think about it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Clint answers with an easy smile, before he returns back to the table where Steve and Lucky are waiting. Bucky waves to Sarah when she sees him leaving, and she waves back, dimpling at him.

Out on the street, shielded by the door where no one in the shop can see him Bucky makes himself take a deep breath and lets his head hang. It’s been a long day, and he’s feeling a little weary, and disappointed in himself for not having the guts to just ask Steve out. If he’d met Steve just a few years ago, before he ever joined the army, Bucky would have turned up the charm and sweet-talked Steve into bed within the night, if not within the first few dates. That’s not what he wants though.

He shoves off into the street, burying his fist in his pocket and clenching his jaw tight. He hasn’t even made it three feet before the door of the coffee shop bursts open and Steve is exiting, his apron scrunched up in his hand. He takes a few determined steps and comes to a stop right in front of Bucky.

“I…uh. Just, so you know, the guy that stood you up is an idiot.”

Bucky stares.

“Any guy would be lucky to have a date with you. I just thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” Bucky breathes, and Steve nods to himself.

“Well,” He says, wringing the apron in his hands. “This might not be the best time, I realize that. And considering your day I wouldn’t blame if you if you said no, but would you like to go have a cup of coffee some time?” The corner of his mouth perks up and he adds, “Maybe at a place my mom doesn’t own?”

“Like a date?”

Bucky does not sound hopeful and breathless. He does not.

“I’d like it to be.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks. “I’d like that too.”

A grin spreads on Steve’s face and Bucky feels like he’s staring at the sun, his smile is so bright. “Okay, great. That’s…great. Really great.”

Bucky grins. “You just said great three times.”

Steve laughs a little, wrenching that poor apron a little more. “Well, can you blame me? I’m nervous, alright.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, taking a step closer so they’re not so far apart anymore. Bucky releases a shaky breath, watching as Steve shuffles a little closer. He can feel Steve’s exhales brush past his chin and smell his cologne, a faint trace of cinnamon and sugar coming from him.

It strikes Bucky how long it’s been since he’s felt like this. Knee tremblers in the back of empty linen closets and showers don’t feel half as exciting as this does. Steve dips his head a little, watching Bucky for any sign of discomfort, but Bucky knows there won’t be any. Their lips meet, and Bucky inhales sharply through his nose, reaching up to cradle Steve’s jaw in his hand. It’s chaste, just a soft little kiss and Bucky has hardly had his fill when Steve pulls back. He chases Steve’s lips and feels him smile against his mouth before he kisses him again, stepping close enough that their chests brush to place a hand on Bucky’s waist.

Bucky let the kiss turn deep before he rests his forehead against Steve’s, feeling a smile spread on his face. From the corner of his eye he spots a shadow in the coffee shop window and can’t stop himself from smirking.

“Your friend is fist pumping.” He says.

“What?” Steve asks, sounding a little dopey. Looking like it too actually.

Bucky dips his head towards the window, where Clint is currently giving them a pair of enthusiastic thumbs up. Steve snorts, then smirks as he kisses Bucky again, just the once this time, before he takes a step back.

“So, uh, that’s a yes I’m assuming?”

Bucky quirks a brow at him. “I’d say that was a pretty enthusiastic yes, wouldn’t you?”

Steve chuckles. “I guess I’d agree with that sentiment.”

Bucky fishes his phone from his pocket and hands it to Steve, who immediately types in his number. It’s saved under Steve Rogers when Bucky gets it back and he sends Steve a casual ‘hey’ so he’ll have Bucky’s number too.

“Okay, so I guess I’ll call you?”

“You better.” Bucky answers.

-

“Buck,” Steve says, his voice rough from sleep. “It’s snowing.”

Bucky blinks his eyes open slowly and turns in bed. In the low, golden light of the lampposts outside, little fluffs of white swivel in the air.

“I think you’re going to have to give in to Darcy and start makin’ peppermint coffee real soon, if not you’re going to be loosing all your costumers to Starbucks.”

“Fuck Starbucks,” Steve mumbles, resettling into the bed. “Peppermint’s okay. Not going to budge on the gingerbread Frappuccino, though, that’s just too much.”

“It’s so good though.”

Steve’s yawns sounds disapproving. “What time is it?”

“Five past five.”

Steve groans and flops back on the bed. Bucky snuggles in close, relishing the few minutes that’s left before Steve needs to go downstairs and start making todays pastries. It’s difficult to stay awake when he’s so warm and comfy beneath the sheets, especially with Steve’s arms around him, but Bucky manages. It’s his favorite part of the day – waking up with Steve. Even if it’s at five a.m. in the morning and he’s almost too sleepy to keep his eyes open.

Steve lies with him for another few minutes, running his fingers up and down Bucky’s spine. Eventually he presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, and then one to his lips before he slips out of bed. Bucky watches as Steve dresses, pulling on a thick homemade Christmas sweater, courtesy of one Sarah Rogers, and then jeans so tight that Bucky’s tempted to pull him right back into bed. He almost does, but Steve only pries his fingers off his waistband with a chuckle and kisses him again.

“I’ll ask Darcy to look up today and we’ll take a long weekend, spend the whole weekend in bed.”

Bucky pulls him in for another kiss. “I expect you to make good on that promise.”

Steve hums, threading his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tugging a little.

“I’ll be down in a couple of hours.” Bucky murmurs.

“And I know better than to expect you to make good on _that_ promise.”

Bucky bats at Steve’s smirky face, then shoves him away so he can snuggle into their bed. Steve bustles a kiss to the top of his head before he leaves to have breakfast and brush his teeth. The second Steve is out the front door; Bucky hears the sound of nails clicking on the floor. The brush of soft fur under the hand he has hanging over the side of the bed makes Bucky grin into his pillow. Charlie licks his fingers, and because she knows Bucky is a pushover she breaks out the puppy eyes.

“Oh get in, you damn mutt.” Bucky grumbles half-heartedly and suddenly finds himself with a face full of fur and a warm bed again.

Yeah, it’s a good life.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever work in this fandom. I’ve been reading mcu fics for such a long time now and I finally felt ready enough to post this. Be kind to me? 
> 
> Little disclaimer! I have no clue how the military works in America; I don’t even know how the military works in my own country. There’s only so much you can get from Google, and I’m sure being in the army is a little different than reading off Wikipedia. Also, English is not my first language and this work is un-betaed. Sorry for any errors.


End file.
